


Somebody’s Going to Emergency, Somebody’s Going to Jail

by managerie



Series: RINCH [23]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark!Reese, Death, Episode Related, Episode: s02e02 Bad Code, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Torture, Season Two Root, Violence, dark!fic, rinch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/managerie/pseuds/managerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad Code Canon Divergence:</p><p> Root hired muscle for jobs before why not at the train station?<br/></p><div class="center">
  <p>***Heed warnings***</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Went Down To The Station

**Author's Note:**

> I told tumblr about this fic:
>
>> I think I want to write a really HARD CORE Dark!Fic. As in …Reese needing to be the avenging angel of death to protect Finch.
>> 
>> Not fluffy, not angst…straight up murder to protect Harold. I mean, the John Reese that Stanton named not the boy scout. The boy scout is all puppy eyes and snuggles TO Finch but FOR Finch? John flat out scorches the earth without a second thought.
>> 
>> Lots of violence and smut. Tender lovemaking with bloody hands. 
> 
> This is Season Two Root. She will be hated and despised by John. If given a chance, John will kill her or worse. Please keep that in mind. I will try to imply violence instead of graphically describing it where I can. 

** **

~ * ~

 

The train station is crowded with milling travelers. They are like chickens bobbing around looking for grain. John sees Harold, their eyes connect. Harold is in a wheelchair! What did that demon woman do to him?

John doesn't have time to think about the implications of Harold’s possible injuries. John just acts. He trudges forth like a football player, avoiding the tackle of bodies to reach his goal. He tries to run, twisting and turning, sometimes pushing figures out of the way. They block his view of Harold. They are irrelevant and a hindrance.

He sees Root inching closer to Harold. She leans her arm, covered by her cloak near Harold’s head, the threat clear. She has a concealed gun in her hand.

John slows, his shoes stuttering on the tiles since he stopped so quickly, he nearly topples. He can’t rush at Root now. He can’t reach Harold. Frustration is a heavy shroud that washes over him.

Then, six large men start to close in on John. He sees that they are all armed. John can either risk getting Harold and scores of innocent people killed or he can give up, surrender now to wait to get a better chance later.

John’s entire body goes limp. He doesn't react when the widest hired gun shakes him forward and the blond guard slips the gun from John’s lax hand.

Harold swallows, wide eyed and frightened. John smiles tenderly, reassuring Harold. This is not Harold’s fault. This situation is entirely the fault of the slender, dark haired woman pushing Harold's chair to an empty corner of the station. She is smug and condescending as she locks the wheels into place and sits with her coat draped over her lap. Her hand inside the fabric bulges with the menacing threat of her weapon trained on Harold.

John only notices her in his peripheral. Harold is John’s focus. The older man actually looks his age for once. He is pale, waxy. He looks hollow and shiny with sweat. John has never seen Harold with a five o’clock shadow, Harold doesn’t grow a beard as quickly as John, but almost four days of captivity has sparse hairs scattered along the skin that usually is smooth and fresh every day.

What upsets John more is not the entire armed squadron surrounding them. No, Harold's disheveled appearance and complete unease is the most disturbing factor to this whole affair. Harold is not only out of his element, out of his depth. Harold is also beside himself. John is looking at the soft kernel that usually remains hidden by the hard husk of fussy precision and elegance, the power and knowledge with which Harold is usually shielded. All that is gone, leaving exposed nerves that shriek and scream at even the wind brushing past them.

John is so agitated by this that he can’t be angry. All his energy is being used up to strategize and plan how to restore Harold’s armor. The need to cocoon Harold in his own strength and defend his friend against the onslaught of indignity is all John can really process right now.

They can’t fight, not here. But Root can’t keep them in a crowd like this for long. She will have to sequester them away to what she hopes is a secure location. Fortunately for John, securing a hideout also means they have a chance to pick off the enemy one at a time. People become complacent, lazy. They drop their guard. Root hired six men for the expressed purpose of controlling John. That means she doesn't plan to kill him, not immediately anyway.

Harold looks drugged, probably the reason for the chair. Root doesn't need these goons to keep Harold under control. Simply threatening to hurt a stranger is enough to keep honorable and soft hearted Harold in line.

John has a similar chink in his own armor. However, John’s main concern is Harold. Innocent bystanders need to be protected, but not at the cost of Harold’s safety. Every soldier knows how to prioritize and accomplish a mission at all cost. Root might not realize that. All John needs is time and one opening. Just one mistake and he will slither into the crack and expand like ice in a fissure of rock. Water might seem weak compared to a boulder, but freeze it, expose it to harsh elements and mountains crumble at the feet of a river.

~ * ~

 

 


	2. But Men Get Lost Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root sets down some ground rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The human body has to void about every 32 hours and urinate every 2-4 hours. Being a captive means less privacy. This is an attempt to show exactly what Harold, a very private person had to endure in Ms. Groves' care. Nothing too graphic but it will be a bit squeakish.

~ * ~

Root smirks and eyes Harold with adoration. “Well isn’t this cozy?”

John is forced to sit across from Harold, between the two beefiest men. Two others flank Root while the last two circle them casually to keep out prying eyes and little ears. Ironically, all six behemoths are dressed similarly to John; suits and button downs with no tie. However, John’s suit is glaringly better: well tailored and expensive, not the off-the-rack fare these guys are sporting. John has a moment of pride in Harold all over again.

They all look like a group of business men having a meeting with Harold the CEO. Root appears to be his secretary and nurse by his side. It's a farce of course, appearances can be deceiving and all that.

She continues in a honeyed tone that makes John’s stomach gurgle. “Now that we have a chance to be honest and open with each other I’d like to say how disappointed I am, Harry.”

John lurches at the nickname. It's as if she has slapped Finch in front of John. The disrespect and false familiarity just rankles. The wide receiver who originally manhandled John punches him in the arm and John sits back.

Root scrunches her nose in delight at John then turns back to Finch. “I see that a nebulous, unspecified threat to a faceless stranger isn't enough to restrain your naughtier impulses. When I realized your lap dog was on the scent, I arranged for a welcoming party. Perhaps a well known, beloved target and a very detailed list of consequences will work better.”

John is not perturbed to be called Harold’s pet, but Root’s constant discourtesy by calling Finch “Harry” is making John seethe. She re-positions her hands in her lap. “Now Harry, if you disobey me in any way I will have one of these helpful gentlemen take a hammer to John’s right hand. He will break every single bone. John will not be given any medical attention or drugs. If that isn't enough to discourage bad behavior, the second transgression will result in dislocating John’s right elbow as well as shattering his radius and ulna. Third transgression sees his humorous broken and his shoulder dislocated. Then we proceed to his left hand and so on. Next his right foot followed by--”

Harold hisses, “Yes, alright. I understand.”

Root tilts her head toward him, letting her hair fall as she smiles. “You’re so clever Harry. I’m sure this will finally let us converse as equals. No more resistance between us.”

Harold looks at John, terror and sorrow in his eyes. John smirks, letting Harold know this isn't all that bad. At least John can see for himself that Harold is alive. The hand that is bandaged gives John pause but it looks superficial. John wishes he knew what this crazy woman wanted from them. He needs to wait and bide his time for an opportunity to get Harold out of her grasp.

Root looks at John. “I don’t have to tell you what happens to Harold if you aren't cooperative do I John? I need his mind not his body for my plans. He and I can still be the best of friends even with Harold in traction or paralyzed from the waist down.”

She rises, pushing Harold to the entrance of the station. John is flanked by four of the goons while one leads the way and the last one has their back. Outside, Root pauses and puts on her sunglasses making her look like a demented Jackie O. “I originally wanted to take a train; easier on everyone to travel that way. However, Harold here had other plans, didn’t you Harry?”

She smiles down at Harold. “So we’ll need to make other arrangements for our trip.” She looks at John. “We need to get to the Pacific Northwest. I believe you were born there John? Should be a nice homecoming for you.”

A white church van with extra seating drives up and the valet gets out. The side of the van reads _Highland Church Missions_. Apparently, now they are a religious team traveling across country. John’s phone is crushed and left on the curb. He is patted down discreetly.

Harold is lifted unceremoniously to the back bench-seat by one of the burly brutes. Root and one of the goons on either side of him. Harold’s wheelchair is folded and placed in the back storage area. John is placed in the middle of the seat in front of Harold with two other guards. The last three close the doors. One drives, one navigates, and the sixth man climbs into the back storage area to sit on the floor behind Harold and next to the wheelchair. They move as one unit, no words spoken between them except driving directions from the navigator. Apparently they have worked together for sometime. Root obviously planned ahead. Everyone knows what to do without instructions. That makes it harder to read the group, but easier to find a crack as most people start to lose their edge after working together for so long.

They travel as quickly as they can away from Maryland. The guards keep their guns trained on their captives. They stop just before getting onto Interstate 76. They have traveled for two hours and are now passing the town of Breezewood, PA. Carter might have been able to find them in Maryland, but now they are hours away, heading for the opposite coast.

They get out to stretch their legs and gas up. Harold is escorted to the bathroom with Root and one of the guards. John is made to stay beside the van. John exercises and relieves his cramped legs. Two guards keep a gun pointed at him the whole time, the van blocking the view for most of the patrons.

The driver pays for their gas while the navigator pumps. The sixth guy from the back of the van goes to take a leak. Once he comes back, John’s guards switch with the sixth guy, letting each man have a turn in the restroom. The driver has water for everyone and some protein bars. Once Harold, his guard, and Root return John is manhandled to the bathroom. He makes an attempt to pee while they watch.

He washes his hands then is shoved over to a radiator. He is cuffed to it. Tweedle Dee goes to the toilet while Tweedle Dum takes a wiz at the urinal. When they’re done, neither man washes his hands. They partially un-cuff John with their dirty hands. He grimaces in distaste.

They cuff his hands together in front of him and use one of their overcoats to cover the whole thing. John is taken back to the van. He makes eye contact with Harold. John has no idea what further humiliations Root performed in the restroom. Root herself did not go to the ladies room. Did she pee right there in front of Harold?

No one speaks again except the navigator giving directions. Occasionally, Root would make small talk to Harold. Her voice is trying to be soothing, but it just grates on John’s nerves and agitates Harold who is starting to come out of his drug induced stupor. John’s mind has been calculating ways to get away with Harold. So far, no exit has made itself known. John understands that with this many people around him, he will have to kill them to be sure they won't follow or pose an additional threat. Killing Root will be a pleasure, but the others are just hired muscle. John would feel sorry for them except that they blindly keep Harold a prisoner. That much savagery and lack of humanity has sealed their fates long ago. Killing them soon will also be gratifying.

Next rest stop is almost four hours later in Newton Falls, Ohio. Here they gas up, stretch, use the restroom, and gather some unhealthy roller-grill food for the road. Restaurants would be too tricky to maneuver. Drive thru might alert the cashier to something being off so those are out too. The hot dog smells rank, sweating into the tasteless bun.  Root tears off bites of something called a _Cheddarwurst_ and tries to feed Harold by hand. He is not a baby bird and jerks away from her.

She admonishes, “Now Harold, do I need to buy a hammer at the next hardware store we see? This hunger strike needs to end now.”

Harold looks bleakly at John. Harold opens his mouth obediently. He chews what she places in it, takes a sip from the water bottle. John is incensed. That monster is using John to keep Harold in place. John’s head is roughly whipped around to face the front. His hot dog falls half eaten to the floor.

They take the Ohio turnpike which turns into I-90. They are now in Illinois. I-94 takes them further northwest two hundred miles later. They will be driving on I-90 and I-94, back and forth for a while. John wonders if they will be traveling through the night.

Finally, as they pass the outskirts of Chicago seven hours and two more stops later, they get a cheap motel room for the night. Driver and Navigator get one bed, Root and Harold share an uncomfortable looking queen. John is bundled onto the floor between Dee and Dum. The last two, Blondie and Back-seat guy keep watch. Very few words pass between the guards. It takes Root a long time to convince Harold to lie down under the covers with her. Finally, she simply threatens John again while rolling her eyes. Harold does as he is told.

John does his best to listen for Harold. Root will drug him again if he can’t go to sleep on his own. John needs his rest too. Nothing can be done tonight. His hands and feet are cuffed now and the blanket over him has the edges stuffed under each of his guards. This basically bolts him to the floor. He can’t get up. Once Harold's breathing evens out John allows himself to sleep. If Root moves or Harold cries out John will wake instantly.

Four hours later, John is awakened by the changing of the guard. Blondie and Back-seat are pointing guns at John while Dee and Dum get up to take the next shift. Dee and Dum train their weapons on John while Blondie and Back-Seat lay on either side of him, on top of the blanket’s edges, pinning John down again for another four hours of sleep. It’s efficient. Neither Root nor Harold were awakened by the change.

Eight A.M. comes early and John is kicked in the side. Harold makes a sound of protest. John waves him off with a gesture from his cuffed hands. Harold is sitting up on the bed he shared with Root. Root is combing her wild hair. Dee and Dum are using the bathroom. Blondie and Back-seat are guarding them. Root takes Harold to the restroom, she closes the door. John needs to pee something awful, but he is more interested in listening to what is going on behind that closed door. No sound for a while, then running water and a flushing toilet. John grits his teeth.

Root opens the door dragging Harold. She smiles brightly, “We all need a bath. This place stinks. I assume that John and Harold didn’t bring their overnight bags.”

Navigator and Driver go out to the van. They come back with two small suitcases. Inside are toiletries for Harold and John presumably. Root says, “John takes the first shower. Hang up your clothes to let the steam try and save them. You’ll have to put your socks and underwear back on too. Please brush your teeth and try not to make a shiv out of your toothbrush. When we have enough distance between us we’ll go shopping for something at the _Big, Tall & Stupid_ store.”

She smiles sweetly at Finch. “Harold on the other hand has a change of under things here.” She pats the bag. “Hand me your suit so I can see the size. We can get something more comfortable for you then. Only a few more hours of wearing this to go Harry. Now that you are eating again, your strength will return and I'm positive your mental faculties will be restored. I’m sure your obstinance was just hunger talking.”

Harold looks upset at the idea of undressing in front of so many people. John chimes in. “Let Harold go first. With him in the shower I won’t try anything. Give him his privacy. He can hand you his things through the door.”

Harold looks relieved when Root agrees. By the time Harold is out of the shower and dressed, John’s bladder is screaming. Root secures Harold to a chair with zip ties. She leaves to get breakfast. John is stripped then and there. He is escorted to the shower none too gently. The treatment is nothing to John, but he does regret that Harold has to watch. Harold turns his face as best he can in an attempt to give John privacy. John appreciates the gesture. He showers with the door open, peeing in the stall. It is a small, petty strike against his captures, but since Harold has already showered only Root and the goon squad will be bathing in his piss.

They eat a meal of fruit and cottage cheese. John is grateful for the coffee. Root tries to feed Harold again, but Harold spoons it to his mouth as best he can one handed. She holds the cup of tea for him anyway. John is starting to understand a little about Root. She wants Harold to like her, she wants him to depend on her. She wants Harold to stop looking at John for reassurance and support. She is jealous of John’s role in Harold's life that much is glaringly clear.

 


	3. And He Was Too Much In This World

 

~ * ~

 

The rest of the early morning is spent getting everyone clean. John is not allowed a razor, but there is an electric shaver. Tweedle Dum supervises John in front of the sink. Harold gets it next. John cleans the blades as best he can with soap and water. Harold smiles in appreciation.

Root makes to take the thing from John’s hands, but John starts shaving Harold himself. Harold’s eyes go wide for a second, but he soon understands John is attempting to keep Root at arm’s length. John will try to do as many personal actions as he can for Harold. John will do anything to keep  ** _that_**   woman away from Finch. Moreover, John will do anything for Harold regardless.

The guards are all smirking as if watching a man shave another man is funny. John worries that Harold will get embarrassed by the assumptions they are making. Instead, Harold focuses on John.

John has seen Finch do the _tunnel vision_ thing while researching a Number or when trying to persuade someone from doing violence. John had been envious of such single minded focus from such an extraordinary brain. It was like a laser beam from outer space that narrows down to spotlight only you. Having it fixed on John makes him feel special, worthy.

Harold approves of John and therefore John must not be so bad. The feeling is nice. However, this is not the time to indulge in such things. Kidnappers love to find your weak spot so they can exploit it. John is not going to have this cherished thing soiled by those callow mercenaries and one cuckoo chick.

Shaving complete, John again cleans the blades. In the back of his mind he worries about DNA and hair trace. Can Root do something with Harold’s hair clippings? John doesn’t want to chance it.

Root looks unhappy that she couldn’t be up close and personal with Harold, but instead of making a fuss she gets everything squared away. She wants to make it to Minneapolis before they stopped for the night. Seems she has a safe house there. She makes them skip a few rest stops, driving seven hours straight.

Harold needs to urinate about hour five. John can tell. Harold spent a restless stakeout with John the first time they ever heard of Root. Finch has tried to hold it, not wanting to use the bottle or leave the car since John wasn’t leaving. Harold was trying to do his part. John thought it was cute, the little shimmy Harold would do in his seat. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but Harold rarely fidgeted. So, John had noticed the rhythmic rocking and swaying.

Finally, John asked Harold to get some coffee knowing that the store would have a restroom for Harold. That way, it looked like Harold was doing John a favor by coming along. Harold was helping John and John was saving Harold’s pride. It worked. When Harold returned he had been calm and still, no more pee-pee dance.

Back then it was adorable, right now it is serious. Harold is uncomfortable and Root isn’t stopping for anything, save gas. These vans can go a while before needing a fill up. The gas tanks are huge and they have two of them.

Finally, Harold asks for a bathroom break. His humiliation and embarrassment is a tangible thing breathing in the small space. Root pulls out an empty water bottle. “Here, I’ll hold it and you can pee. We need to make it to my safe house by night fall.”

Harold is mortified. John is furious and says so. “Listen Root, Harold is a grown man. I doubt he can pee with everyone watching. If he holds it for too long he’ll get a UTI. You want his mind clouded by infection? Just pull over to the side of the highway and let him piss in peace. He can't run and wouldn't anyway since you have me cuffed and surrounded by armed guards.”

Root looks stubborn, but Harold croaks out a soft request, “Please.”

The word is spoken with such shame that John’s anger might get the better of him, but Root relents. It seems getting Harold to beg her is what she wanted. They stop off on the shoulder. Harold is allowed to walk to the trees and take care of business.

While waiting in the silent vehicle, Root coldly remarks. “If you think your little game will work you are stupider than I thought. Harold doesn’t need you. I certainly don't want you here. But you are useful. You are always useful to other people. That’s why they keep you around.”

John doesn’t turn his head, but keeps watch over Finch. With very little emotion he says, “Harold is a sensitive, compassionate man. He responds to gentility and manners. If you want to get close to him then I suggest you make an attempt to seem human. The cold killer routine won’t get you far.”

Root’s voice becomes challenging. “You mean how Harold hired a former government assassin?”

Her tone changes to simpering, mocking. “You think he has tamed you, made you presentable to respectable society. You think Harold actually likes you, that he doesn't simply tolerate you in order to save people. Get real, John. Of the two of us, Harold is more inclined to gravitate toward a cyber hacker who lost her way than a murder machine with a hero complex.”

Before Mark Snow shot him on that rooftop, John might have been wounded by Root’s words. Back then, he would have believed them wholeheartedly. But since that rooftop Harold has demonstrated his unwavering faith in John. Even as recently as this morning, Harold made his appreciation for John as a person, as a friend abundantly clear.

Harold might take a while to defrost around people, but once the ice is broken Harold never lets a day go by without at least once showing exactly how much John was liked, needed, wanted, and befriended. It wasn't done with big gestures or friendly hugs. No, but John was trained to notice the little things.

Harold excels in the details; a lighting up of his eyes when John walked into the room, a quirking of his uneven lips in an approximation of a smile, a heartfelt ‘thank you’, the quiver in his voice over the comm link when John might be in danger, and of course always running into that danger to rescue John when John made some mistake. Harold never berated John, never made the mistake John’s sole responsibility. Even when John completely messed up, Harold took the brunt of the blame. Harold made John feel welcomed, valued, and in his own fashion, loved.

No, Root’s taunting motto will miss its mark. John has almost a year of reassuring words and sincere appreciation to wrap around himself. The cloak of genuine affection and trust will deflect even the most carefully aimed barb. Root has no idea what being in Harold’s good graces is like. She has an inkling and she covets it like a precious jewel. However, she thinks it is something to be earned. It isn’t.

It is something Harold gives out because Harold is a good man who respects everyone and never neglects people. As much as Harold is a hermit he is also acutely aware of how he comes across to people. Being an introvert makes you hyper-sensitive to other’s reactions. Harold knows the mood and reception from everyone in a room as soon as he walks into it. He claims to be bad with people but in fact, Harold is just too sensitive for this harsh world.

He values all forms of life and does not have it within himself to ever be cruel. So, when he finds cruelty in others it feels foreign to him. Having kept himself isolated teaching The Machine every horror mankind could inflict upon one another just separated Harold further from the masses in his mind. How can he understand people if their actions are so distant from anything Harold himself can fathom?

Root will learn that Harold won’t be swayed by cruelty. Instead, her continued attempts to use John against Harold will eventually push Finch to respond. He is slow to anger, but once it is unleashed, heaven help anyone nearby. Harold can never be hateful, but he is always fair. Most people would be terrified to receive their just reward. Harold is exceptionally focused and creative. He can surmount even their wildest imaginings. 

With a renewed sense of purpose, John squares his shoulders and does his best to ignore Root. Harold gets back into the van and Root hands him a moist towelette from her purse. It seems Root is going to take John’s advice on politeness. Harold says 'thank you' and wipes his hands thoroughly.

They drive on into the sunset. They make it to Minneapolis just after sundown. Root has to direct them to her place. She switches seats with the navigator. John keeps turning around to check on Harold. They might get separated and John wants to make sure Harold knows that things will be alright. They will get through this together.

Harold appears to understand; his eyes lose their dull sheen for a heartbeat, his sneer straightens out into a barely there smile. It is enough for John: message received and answered.

They arrive at a warehouse in a rundown industrial park. It looks like most of the surrounding buildings are empty, unused. Homeless people might use them for squatting but the ‘for sale’ signs are old and tattered. Nobody willingly spends any time in this neighborhood. That also means that escaping will be difficult with very few chances of reaching help before capture.

Driver and Back-seat get out to scope the terrain. Root takes the driver seat and turns around to glare at John. “First, John will be taken in and settled into the one room I have prepared. If you try to run or my guys don’t come back in three minutes I will take off with Harold. We can find a nice axe to remove his left hand. He can still code one handed. You will never see him again. Are we clear?”

John nods once. Root revs the engine to make her point that the van is ready to go should John deviate from the plan. John doesn’t so much as move wrong with four gun men trained on Harold. The warehouse appears to be empty but if you look closer you will notice several surveillance cameras. There is a keypad that is suspiciously clear of dirt. Back-seat holds John’s arm while Driver enters a code too fast for John to see. The buttons makes no noise when pressed so John can’t memorize their sound.

They enter to find a steel cage with a palm print reader. This set up is looking more and more like an inescapable fortress by the minute.

Finally inside the main body of the building, John is directed past offices that house monitoring rooms with screens full of the various outside shots. The next room has screens of what appears to be every section of the interior. There is a kitchen, a barracks room with six beds, then what John sees to be a cell. It is large, but still covered with wire. Light can come in through the window, but the chicken wire won’t let even fingers or hands through the mesh. That is the room into which they led John.

There is only one double bed, but a lot of therapeutic pillows, a shower sectioned off with clear plastic curtains and a toilet/sink combo that is fairly exposed. The shower area as well as the toilet has grab bars to assist in their use for someone with limited range of motion. The bed has handrails and is adjustable. The only other furniture is a desk and an ergonomic chair. In one corner stands some sort of exercise equipment. It looks like a series of tension bands that you can pull with your arms, legs, or back to keep flexibility. The entire room screams that Root plans to keep Harold here for a very long time. John is not going to let that happen.

They lock John inside the cage and go to get Harold. It is a matter of minutes before Harold joins John.

Root locks the door with a click. “I had planned to keep Harry here alone, but you decided to crash the party John. There are extra blankets and towels under the bed, as well as toiletries and under things for Harry. I’ll go shopping for you John. That way you won’t have to sleep in your underwear. We wouldn’t want to stress Harold’s sensibilities too far.”

She sneers at that then continues. “Hopefully Harold will give up his precious personal space to let you share the bed. If not, the floor is always available. You’ll notice that there are cameras at every conceivable angle. We can see everything you do. The shower and toilet have to be kept open. I know how clever you can be Harry. There is no computer here and the wire makes a suitable Faraday Cage. So, even should you Macgyver something a signal will be blocked.”

John shrugs, “Should be cozy.”

Root does not look amused. She takes a key from her pocket and throws it into the cage. “Uncuff him if you want Harold. Personally, I’d keep that dog muzzled if I were you.”

She moves out of their sight, but each man is heavily aware that she and her goons are watching their every movement. John assumes that four of the guards will be bunking down while the most alert of the group keeps watch.

Harold goes to assist John with the cuffs, but Reese has already picked up the key and has his hands free. His feet are easy to get to now. He gathers the chains and cuffs to keep them for later. You never know what might be useful.

John looks under the bed to find Harold something to wear. That suit has to be ripe by now. John is trying very hard to keep from thinking about that bed. After he was shot, he had some time to think about his feelings for his employer. John has never considered gender an issue in regards to sex. The attraction to his savior had been there since helping the Judge and his son, Sam. John had figured it was gratitude and dismissed it.

When Harold ran towards that bomb during the case, John’s heart had been in his throat. After Mark nearly killed him, John had to admit it was more. Harold had risked his own life to save John more than once. Thank God Finch had hired a private male nurse to service John while he healed. John wasn't sure he could have kept his mouth shut or his cock flaccid under those meds if Harold had been the one to bathe Reese and assist him to the bathroom.

John had many a night to plan and strategize about seducing his boss. Not to stereotype people, but Harold’s fussy nature, impeccable dress sense, and devotion to the handsome, but dead Nathan Ingram made most people think he was gay. John started to research Harold in earnest. He even got Fusco involved. If John could find Harold’s house then he could show up and proceed to cajole and sweep his boss off his feet.  John thought he had succeeded when Grace opened the door.

On the one hand, John had been glad that Harold hadn’t been alone all that time. Harold’s apparently unrequited love for Ingram had made John angry on Harold’s behalf. Now it seemed John had it wrong. Harold wasn't gay after all.

John didn't get enough time to really reflect and work through that revelation before Root happened. The hurt and disappointment were still under the surface, wanting resolution and closure. When they got out of here John will need about two days of some heavy drinking and self pity to get this out of system enough to abandon the hope for more than friendship. Right now he doesn’t have that luxury. They need to get through this first.

That put the bed back into John’s mind. Will Harold insist John share the bed? John isn’t a teenager; he can control himself, but in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness John can't always fully command his mind and body. Will he turn in bed and snuggle close to the man he loves? Will Harold be scandalized?

John is confident that Harold wouldn’t be disgusted with him, but will their hard-won trust be stressed? Will Harold put distance between them? Will Harold refuse to work with John after this? All of these are a possibility, but John will worry about that after he has Harold out of here and back at the Library. They just have to live through this. Everything else will have to wait.

 


	4. They Found His Clothing

~ * ~

John hands Harold a towel and some pajamas. Harold is looking inward, not noticing anything. John stands up and takes Harold’s hand to force him to grip the clothes. Harold looks down at his hand. “Mr. Reese...John. I am so sorry.. you..”

John interrupts him, though not unkindly, “We don’t know if she has microphones in here. Go take a shower. I’ll try to block the cameras from seeing you. Then get dressed and head to bed. We need to keep up our strength.”

Harold drops the pile onto the bed. “I hardly think telling you how sorry I am that you will die with me is something they care to hear.”

John shrugs. “No advantage is too small.”

Harold huffs, “You shouldn't even be here. I made you The Contingency..”

John swiftly stops Harold from speaking, “About that.” John narrows his eyes at Finch. “What gives you the right to decide for me? If I wanted to keep working without you that would be my choice. I don't as it happens.”

John steps closer to Harold, menacingly, angry. “I don't want to forget you, abandon you to fate. You might think you are irrelevant, but I’m here to tell you that I can’t do this without you. Moreover, I don’t want to. You gave me a purpose, not your creation. I understand needing me to carry on, but only after I do everything in my power to get you back. Are we clear?”

Harold deflates miserably. “I didn't want this. I wanted the hope that you'd be safe.”

John pats the smaller man on the shoulder. “I’ve never been safe. Not from myself or from danger. What kind of life would that be anyway? Where I just shake off people as if they never mattered, as if you don’t matter?”

Harold looks bleakly into John’s eyes. “It’s better than dying as pawn in a mad woman’s plan to find.” He pauses and swallows, “My creation. John, she is looking for it. She will kill for it.”

John picks up their towels and clothes, “I know. I saw Alicia and Weeks, but I think she’ll keep you alive. Even if she finds your creation she will want you there. She likes you, she idealizes you.”

Harold grabs the bundle from John and stomps over to the sink. He places the folded towel on the sink and hangs the pajamas on hooks near the clear curtains. He looks to be thinking carefully and fussily drapes the towel over the handrail near the toilet. “She is unhinged. She has this idea that I will befriend her. After what she has done in front of me, how can she possibly think I could like her? If she saves the entire world that wouldn’t make up for using innocent people like dolls to be discarded when she no longer has use for them. John, she is going to hurt you to get to me. I will not only be the reason for your death, but also your pain. She …”

Harold turns to look at John, real fear and sorrow in his eyes. “She tortured Weeks in front of me. She laughed about it, was amused by the unraveling of a strong man. How could anyone?”

John again shrugs. In a low voice he tells Harold, “Nothing I haven‘t done myself.”

Harold looks angry again. “There is a world of difference between doing something awful in defense of people versus enjoying, relishing torture for its own sake. Or worse.”

John is a bit stunned. “Worse?”

Harold’s mouth is an angry line, he nearly spits out, “Root not only enjoys holding power over people, she does it for personal and monetary gain. I know you think you are the devil, but honestly John, you truly believed that everything you were doing would protect people. The very second you began to have doubt you investigated, you attempted to do something about it. Nothing Root has ever done served any purpose, but to amuse her or fatten her wallet. Motive is just as important as action.”

John is quiet for a moment, but then whispers, “You can’t know that I didn't enjoy it.”

Harold strides forward, he grabs John by the shoulders and shakes him. “Yes I can, Mr. Reese. I know exactly everything about you.” John is shocked by Harold’s vehemence

Harold continues in a urgent tone. “I read Miss Stanton’s reports on you. I have seen your work. You were a terrible spy, but an excellent soldier. You would do whatever was needed to get the job done, but you never had your heart in it.”

Harold steps back, seemingly shocked at his own reaction. More calmly, he takes off his jacket, folding it onto the desk. “Mark Snow remarked often about your precision, but complained frequently about the lack of enthusiasm. You aren’t a killer, John. You are a man that knows how to kill when it is needed. Those are two distinct and different things. I wish you would at least believe me in this before we die.”

John speaks with certainty, “You aren’t going to die”

Harold doesn’t say anything. Instead he undresses down to his boxers and undershirt. He limps over to the shower area. John picks up a sheet from under the bed. He hangs the sheet over the curtain rods. This effectively hides Harold from the camera. He says to the room, “I’ll take it down once he showers.”

Harold says, “Thank you, John.” He disrobes, leaving his dirty underthings outside the curtain and turns on the shower.

John strips down to his shorts and pulls down the covers. He thinks about what Harold said. Harold truly believes that John isn’t a monster, or a murder machine. It is something John suspected, but always assumed that Harold just didn’t really know the details of John’s former  missions. It seems John underestimated Harold.

Harold read mission reports from Kara and Mark. The two people who John had always suspected he was becoming. To hear that they never once thought John in their league is a bit of a surprise. John had always assumed they just wanted him quieter, more ruthless, less judging. However, it seems that they actually felt John wasn’t into it.

The part about not being a very good spy? Well John has to admit he wasn’t. He was good at completing a mission. He was excellent at surveillance and staying unnoticed, but those are all things he learned as a soldier. To be a spy, to go undercover as some else? John was never good at that. He always ended up just pretending to be Kara’s lover, pretending to be an arms dealer. He was always John the ranger while undercover.

Of the two of them, Harold is the better actor. He inhabits roles like second skins. Every detail, every reaction genuine and in character. John needed to read manuals on protocol. His cover was a ladies man; do a,b, and c. John would do them. If z happens do y. John can run a war, but Harold could run a spy operation.

Harold finishes his shower so John gets up and hands him the towel. Harold dries inside the cocoon of privacy. Then, John blindly reaches in for the towel. Next, he hands Harold the shirt of the pj’s. Harold says thank you in the most heartfelt way that it makes John angry all over again. Harold shouldn't have to scrape out some dignity. Finally, John hands over the pants. Harold asks, “No underwear?”

John smiles, anger vanishing. “You’re just sleeping, Finch. Do you need boxers to sleep?”

Harold huffs, but takes the pants. He pads out in his bare feet. John removes the sheet and  folds it to use later. He stares at Harold’s exposed toes.

This might be the first time John has seen Harold with no shoes on. Who knew feet could be so cute? The tiny things are pink from the shower. John’s own feet are planks in comparison. Harold sits down on the bed and dries them with the towel. He carefully kneels to rummage under the bed. John is quick to assist. “What do you need? Not the underwear?”

Harold grunts. “No, Mr. Reese, but socks would be nice.”

John doesn't understand needing underwear or socks to lie in bed, but he helps Harold pull out the drawer. Harold selects some white cotton socks. John pushes the drawer back in then helps Harold to rise. It shows how tired and bedraggled Harold is that he doesn't protest and puff up at John. Instead, Harold takes John’s hand gratefully.

He sits on the mattress again and brushes the bottom of his right foot. He puts on a sock, covering the tiny toes with their perfectly square and smooth nails. Was John really watching the man’s feet? Yes, yes he was.

Harold has trouble with the left foot. This one is small too, but not so perfect. The soles are calloused from his limp. The baby toe is mangled, turned under its neighbor as if Harold walks on it all day. John knows Harold’s disability in the abstract. All the same, this is a tangible moment of exactly the toll Harold’s body pays for keeping up with their mission. It makes John itch to see the extent of all of Harold’s injuries. Not to pry, nothing sexual this time, but to categorize and learn. John wants to know exactly everything about Harold. He wants to know what will help, what hinders, what Harold needs and wants. He wants to make Harold’s life easier, better.

Once both feet are covered, Harold piles some of the pillows into a mound. He lays back with his head supported but still sitting up. he sighs into the air. He makes to take off his glasses but realizes there isn’t a night stand. John takes them and lays them on the desk. Harold looks unhappy with them so far away but appears to decide to leave it alone for now.

John wants a gun to slip between the mattresses but nothing is looking like a good weapon. There is nothing good enough to even use as a substitute weapon. The room is bare of anything except sparse furniture, a few linens and the personal effects supplied to them. No television or radio. There isn’t a lamp. There aren't even pens or pencils in the desk. What exactly are they supposed to do in here?

Regardless, John finds the light switch for the overhead lights and turns them off. The room is not completely dark. The cameras softly blink with little red eyes. John had found them all pretty quickly. Root didn’t feel the need to hide them. However, John did find one directly over the bed. What did she hope to see? Harold snoring? The woman was weird and a bit obsessed. John needed to remember that, to use it for later. In the morning, if they can John wants to search the room properly to look for mics. Right now, they need a good night’s sleep.

 

~ * ~

 

 


	5. Lying Here In The Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

~ * ~

John makes a pallet on the floor near the door. Harold squeaks, “Oh please, do not tell me you are sleeping there? For heaven’s sake, Mr. Reese, we have been in more intimate situations nearly dying together. If Root’s taunting has made you feel uncomfortable being close to me I will be deeply saddened.”

John shrugs, “Don't want to give her reasons to make fun of us.”

Harold looks at him reprovingly, “John.” His tone is indulgent with a hint of reproach as he drawls the name. “The very idea that you would be sexually or romantically attracted to me would not cause me concern. In fact, it would be a boost to my ego that such a specimen of masculinity and virility would look twice at me. If anything, I would probably preen like a peacock and be insufferably smug.”

John laughs and gathers up the pallet. “Okay, but I‘m sleeping on top of the cover with my own blanket, I bet you’re a bed hog.”

Harold sniffs, “I’ll have you know I never approach where I am not wanted. Get over yourself, Mr. Reese. You are a cuddler, I just know it.”

John feels better, lighter than he has in a while. That is whisked away when Harold grunts in pain. John stands next to the bed looking helpless, “You’re in pain? Is it your hand?”

Harold groans, “No, that was a relatively clean slice from Root with a razor blade.”

John is alarmed and angry, “What?”

Harold dismisses it, “A diversion in a drugstore, not important.”

John feels useless, helpless. He almost whines unhappily. “You’re in pain though. Has Root given you anything today?”

“I haven’t slept well lately and I twisted my neck too fast a few days ago. I can manage, Mr. Reese.”

John frets anyway. He stands under a camera close to the door and yells loudly. Well, loudly for him. “Root? Harold needs something; naproxen or Ibuprofen, over the counter. He needs meds every day. You got him this handicap accessible room, you should know that!”

The lights turn on by themselves and Root steps to the door. She has a tray in her arms. “Calm down, John.”

She motions for Reese to move back which he does, keeping himself between Harold and the door. Blondie and Back-seat open the door and guard Root with guns as she enters. She places the tray on the desk. “Here is some pain meds and finger food for dinner. No utensils because you can’t be trusted with even plastic forks. Oh and we’ll need your belt, Harold’s belt, and the cuffs, please.”

John thinks about not complying, but he wants Harold’s meds. So, he goes over and gets each item. Handing over the cuffs and belts is almost painful to him. The only metal he could find in the room was the hand rails. Losing these will significantly lower his chances of making a weapon.

Root looks triumphant, but John ignores her. He examines the tray and takes a small bite from every item. He inspects the pills. They look like Naproxen 500mg. John hands one of the pills to Harold with some juice. Harold takes the tablet without a word. The other he keeps in case Harold is still in pain. John will force it down the stubborn man if he has to.

John stares daggers at Root until she shrugs and leaves with her bodyguards backing out slowly. They re-lock the door. John wraps the last pill in tissue paper and places it in a drawer of the desk. They eat all the food and drink everything once John is sure that nothing has been injected into them.

The lights turn off automatically when John replaces the tray with their trash on the desk. That doesn’t bode well. Root could turn them on to mess with them. John shakes the thought off. Harold is in here so Root will at least avoid hurting her hero. If she uses the psychological torture on anyone it will be on John alone, which is more than fine with him. John gets into bed. He settles in with a sheet over his body.

Harold looks unhappy. “Will you at least take your shoes off?”

John sits up on an elbow, but doesn't answer right away. He thinks of a way to communicate with Harold without alerting Root. John puts a hand on Harold’s arm and lifts his eyebrows in a question. Harold nods. John taps out _SOS_ in Morse code. Harold taps the same against the back of John’s hand. John feels confident that Harold can understand him so he taps out, “I’m in boxers and a shirt. That is as far as I will go. I need to be able to run if the opportunity approaches.”

Harold taps back “Very well.”

Harold settles back with his hands crossed over his tummy. John isn't sure this type of communication is wise. Touching Harold while in bed together might be too intimate regardless of what Harold said. John listens for Harold’s breathing. It takes over an hour, but Finch finally falls into a slumber. He doesn't move at all. Harold lies there like Dracula, sitting up and motionless.

It takes John about thirty minutes more to fall under himself. He can’t get there until he eventually places his left hand on top of Harold’s. John took the side nearest the door so Harold is to John’s left, his dominant hand if he has one. The touch grounds John. He will know if Harold stirs by sound and by touch. John will know if someone comes in or attempts to take Harold. That’s good. That calms him. He sleeps.

 

~ * ~

 

He is awakened rudely by the literal rattle of their cage. Root stands on the other side of the door. The window above Harold’s side of the bed shows that it is early morning. She follows John’s gaze and smiles. “That’s bulletproof so don’t get any ideas.”

John doesn’t respond. Instead he looks over to Harold. Finch is waking slowly, carefully as if he is the Tin Man from OZ in need of an oil can. He blinks at Reese. John rises and gets his glasses. He returns them to the older man. John keeps his own body between Root and Harold.

Root pouts, “How sweet. Get dressed, John. I have some things to discuss with Harold in private. My associates will escort you to your own conversation.”

John looks at Harold who has gone pale. John swallows and asks, “Can I have your word that you will not harm him in anyway?”

Root raises an eyebrow. “You trust me to keep that promise?”

John frowns, “No, but I think where Harold is concerned you only want to break him mentally, emotionally not physically. I need to hear that my suspicions are correct.”

Harold makes to protest, but Root talks over him. “Alright John, I promise that I will do nothing physical to Harold.” Her expression turns calculating. “Unless he asks me to do it to him, of course.”

John grimaces, but thinks that is the best he is going to get considering the circumstances. He gets dressed and follows Tweedle Dee and Dum who have gotten early morning duty. They led him to a room next door with a chair equipped with padded restraints. John supposes that any marks left on him need to be ones made at Root’s command. So be it.

He heads for the chair, not even making the muscle earn their keep. He straps in his legs then his forehead. Finally, he buckles the restraint for the right wrist. His left will have to be done by the goons. They’ll obviously check and tighten his work, but he wants to show them he isn’t afraid. He got what he wanted, a promise from Root. She’ll use that against him. She’ll dangle it in front of John, but she’ll leave Harold alone for any games involving pain. It is enough for him.

John can hear the murmur of Root’s voice and the anxious tone of Harold’s answers. Tweedle Dum checks the straps. Tweedle Dee looks on with his gun trained on John to make sure Reese doesn’t have something planned. Once Dum is satisfied, he punches John in the jaw, hard. Reese was expecting it. He just spits out some blood and goes boneless, not resisting. The head strap keeps his neck from snapping to and fro. He can’t defend himself and struggling will just hurt him more. If they think he is going to talk they might as well wait for it to snow in hell.

Dum pulls his fist back and strikes the other side. John checks his teeth, nothing’s loose. Dum begins to pummel John’s stomach, nothing too hard, just making him hurt now and sore later. John is grateful he hasn’t eaten yet: vomiting is so undignified.

Dum is being very careful to avoid breaking any of John’s bones. He tires soon. John hasn’t even made a grunt. Tweedle Dee takes over, handing his gun to Dum.

He starts with John’s face. John will have a black eye and a huge bruise on his brow: again. Dee grimaces. In between punches he says, “Say something. I know you want to make noise, let your boyfriend hear it.”

Harold’s voice is frantic next door, “Stop it! Leave him alone! I don’t know where my creation is located. I swear to you, what I told Weeks was the truth.”

So that’s it. They want John to yell in pain to put pressure on Harold to find The Machine. Well they can go fuck themselves. He can’t stop the gasps when they hit his diaphragm, but he will damned twice over before he squeals like a pig for these morons.

Harold is screaming and Root finally leaves the cage to peek into the torture room. She commands, “Enough! Harold won’t say anything this time. Maybe dealing with John’s injuries while I’m away will loosen his tongue.”

John is unstrapped and dragged into their room. Harold makes to run to him, but Root holds a pistol up, “Now, now. Sit!”

Harold sits on the bed. John is dumped in the chair by the desk. Root makes her retreat with her guards behind her. She locks the door. “I’m going to track down that train Harold. I will return in three days. We haven’t broken a single bone in his body. When I get back that might change unless you have something to tell me.”

Once she is out of sight, Harold runs to John. His voice is shaking. “Mr. Reese? What should I do? How can I help? The extra pill from last night”

John catches his arm. “No! You need that in case they don’t give you something else.”

Just then Dum and Dee bring in their breakfast with another two naproxen along with a first aid kit. They leave in silence.

Harold asks John if he wants to shower. Reese nods. Harold helps John undress. Good thing John is in too much pain to really register that. Harold assists John to shower. John complains, “I’m getting sweat and blood on your PJ’s.”

Harold doesn't see the humor. John shrugs and makes it into the shower. He turns the water on. Harold is bustling around the room. When John is as clean as he can get, he turns off the hot water to soak his face in the cold stream. It will help the swelling. John turns off the water completely when he is shivering. A towel is on the hook. Thanks, Harold. John dries and finds clean under things as well. Guess Root went shopping. In a t-shirt,boxers and shoes John leaves the shower and hangs his towel to dry.

Harold sits him down in the chair and fusses with antibacterial wipes. The main damage is just bruises. Most of the blood was from John’s gums. Harold finds two ice packs and activates them. He gets John into bed, one pack on the pillow for John to rest one side of his face. The second pack is placed on his other cheek. Harold holds it in place. The strain of bending has to hurt him. John takes over and tells Harold to bring the breakfast tray over so John can test it.

Harold huffs, “The worst they can do to me has already been done.”

Ah, Harold, always more concerned with others. It’s sweet, but unnecessary. John isn’t anything to waste the emotions on.  Harold gets dressed and takes the tray to the bed. He spoons crushed pineapple and cottage cheese into John’s mouth. There is only one spoon so Harold feds John then himself. He doesn't even pause at sharing. John is again touched. He guesses Harold knows that what is wrong with John isn’t catching.

They finish the simple meal. Harold starts to give John a tablet. John stills his hand. John taps out, “No, you need it more than I do.”

Harold’s mouth clenches shut. He taps back, “I can manage on one. You need this.”

John shakes his head. Harold sighs and taps, “Half? We will share.”

John pauses for a moment, Harold is determined. John relents. They break it in half and swallow it down, sharing the juice between them. Harold gathers the trash covered tray to place it on the desk. He returns to the bed. “What can I do?”

John wants to say nothing. He wants to apologize for being weak, for getting hurt, for letting Root use him against Harold. Harold’s heart is pure and so big. John is letting her damage that heart by hurting John. John says none of these things.

Instead he looks at Harold through his swollen eye. He asks, “Could you maybe quote something you’ve read? Or just talk to me? I want to rest, but if I close my eyes I will worry about where you are and how you are doing. Just talk so I can keep track of you.”

Harold’s mouth hangs open for so long John fears that Finch has figured out why John wants to hear Harold’s voice. Soon though, Harold starts to run through some weird poem. John thinks it’s a Lewis Carol thing because it’s nonsense. However, it relaxes John, the aches ease. He feels at peace if for just this moment.

~ * ~


	6. The Wolf Is Always At The Door

~*~

Lunch sees another pile of finger food. Apparently only plastic spoons are considered safe. Harold props John up and feeds him. Harold is matter of fact, no pity. However, when John attempts to feed himself the steel surges into Harold’s voice, slicing through any of John’s macho bull. “I see no reason to aggravate your injuries by movement. Unless of course you find my touch repulsive.”

John has no answer to that challenge without insulting Harold. So, he lets Finch feed him sandwiches and soup. Harold makes small talk. He explains the history of hotels, then the cell phone industry. Finally, he tires and the food is gone. Harold cleans up and looks around lost for something to say. They have no books, no TV, nothing. John beckons for Harold to sit on the bed. John decides to tell Harold everything that has happened since Root abducted him.

The part about Leon and the ultimatum to The Machine gets a rise out Harold. He stands like he just witnessed someone grow horns. “That is not a good outcome. You can not have such power over my creation. It can not reprogram itself like that. I specifically installed into it and explained that it was to save everyone not me.”

John nods, “Yeah, that was a stupid move for such a smart man.”

Harold sputters at the insult, but John continues unperturbed. “Think Harold. Who knows more about your creation then you? Who could theoretically make another one? Who could program it, modify it at its source? You. You gave it the tools to defend itself then refused to let it use its greatest weapon. You are the greatest asset and threat to it. Your expertise can keep it running or shut it down. You are not just a person, you are part of its system. A threat to you is a threat to it.”

Harold sits down in the desk chair rather more heavily than is good for his back. He looks stunned and shocked. All he manages to say is, “Well, we are certainly seeing that come true aren't we?”

John makes to sit up and Harold comes to his aid. John grabs Harold’s arm, “Now, don’t go thinking this is your fault. We all have our blind spots.”

Harold snaps, “Yes, but yours haven’t gotten us in this mess.”

John grimaces, “You sure about that? What would you say about my tendency to see all The Numbers as innocent victims? That I automatically see women as capable yet vulnerable all the same? That men are always a threat to me until proven otherwise? I see that as a huge blind spot that has gotten me into more trouble than anything you have ever done. And that habit is what got us into this. If I hadn't assumed that Dr. Turing was a victim then I never would have allowed her to be alone with you. It is my job to work the Irrelevant Numbers. Seeing that your creation is still able to safely give us those Numbers is part of that. You are a part of that. Keeping you safe and not allowing harm to you is as important if not more important than protecting the Irrelevants themselves.”

John wipes his face with his hand and shakes his head, “You would think after Kara, Alicia, and our first Number together I would have learned something.”

Harold takes John’s shoulders in his hands. He speaks with emphasis, “You do your best, John. You can not fault yourself for being human,. You can’t think of everything.”

John grabs Harold about the hips in return. Sincerely and with a piercing gaze he says, “And neither can you.”

Harold blinks but has no rejoinder. John pulls Harold down to sit on the mattress edge. “Now about the Number your creation gave me. It was for a Hannah Frye.”

John tells his story and Harold nods along with it as if Harold had suspected something like this in Root’s past. John stops his tale right before entering the house to find the body of Denton Weeks. John can still feel the cold wash that ran over his entire body, the pin pricks in his eyes, the thumping of his heart, and the lurching of his stomach when he thought it was Finch. He can’t relive that for Harold right now. It would be too telling.

Instead he lies back and closes his eyes. Harold stands and bustles about when an intercom crackles to life. “I want to thank you for finding Hannah for me, John. I appreciate it. I won’t forget it.”

John opens his eyes to see Harold looking up at the ceiling. He seems angry. He shouts, “And you repay that debt by beating him mercilessly, Ms. Groves?”

The intercom crackles again, ominously. “My name is Root.”

Harold doesn't even take a breath to shout back, “No it isn't. Your name is Samantha Groves. Root is a device you use to absolve yourself of guilt, to pretend that you aren't human, that you are better than everyone else. Root is a personae you hide behind in order to feel superior. Root allows you to kidnap, torture, and murder with impunity.”

Harold’s arm shoots out to indicate John on the bed, “Mr. Reese is his chosen name because he feels that name best represents him. I do not agree, but I respect his name choice.”

He drops his arm then his good hand points angrily at the speaker in the ceiling. “You on the other hand are not choosing a name instead you are separating yourself from the horrible things you are doing. You aren't Root. You are not special, you are not better than anyone. You are not above mankind. You are in fact far beneath it.”

John tries to get off the bed, to cover Harold, protect him from what is about to happen. He can’t quite make it before Harold is assisting him back onto the mattress.  John grabs an arm, “You need to shut up.”

The gate rattles. John holds onto Harold tightly. Instead of Root with a gun it is just one of the guards. He takes away the trash and comes back with a pile of books. Apparently, Root thinks Harold needs something to distract him. John doesn't relax until Harold has read two chapters of _Little Dorrit_ out loud. Dickens is depressing. Perfect.

A lot of chapters later dinner shows up. Harold again fusses with John. Finch doesn't eat much, but he seems to be unable to sit still. After a guard removes the dinner trays John asks Harold to tell him about his captivity with Root.

Harold starts to talk about a hunger strike and all of Root’s manipulations. John thinks he understands what the problem is with Harold. After not eating for three or more days, Root has been pressuring them to eat. Harold’s system has come back online. To be blunt, Harold needs to void his bowels.

John interrupts, “Harold, if you need the toilet I can hold the sheet up for you.”

Harold looks indignant. “I have more control over myself than you think Mr. Reese.”

John sits up, “This isn't about control this is about comfort and being human, You just bitched out Root for pretending she was above such things. If you need to take a dump you shouldn't resist it.”

Harold looks scandalized, “Mr. Reese! Language.”

John rolls his eyes, “Finch, I was in the Rangers. You think I normally talk like an eleven year old?”

Finally, exasperated John just flat out says, “If you need to take a shit, go take a shit. Privacy, discretion, and delicacy are gone. We have one toilet and one shower surrounded by microphones and cameras. I will try to make it less painful for you, but you need to understand that until we get out of here you can’t be squeamish around me. ”

Harold turns to John, “I do not care if you see me butt naked, Mr. Reese. I do however feel exposed to an enemy. Do you understand how many times Ms. Groves has assisted me in the bathroom? Do you realize that the only thing that kept me from completely crumbling into a catatonic state to hide myself from all that has happened was the hope that you were safe. I no longer have that. Now, all I have is a vague promise that she is leaving to find my creation. That if I wait a little longer, I might be able to void with only six guards and my friend to witness.”

John stands with some assistance from Finch, “Go over there. I’ll get the sheet. This isn't something you should wait on. You will hurt yourself. No need to suffer.”

Harold sees the suffering on John's face and can not deny his friend this moment to help ease Harold’s pain. So, Harold uses the toilet while John Reese hides him from view. It is a strangely intimate moment. Harold is grateful for the help in preserving his dignity even over John’s comfort from his injuries.

John looks away saying, “If I had to go right now I would be enjoying it. I could throw my poop through the gate.”

Harold laughs.

Afterwards, Harold takes a shower and they both get dressed in their night clothes. John asks about the socks.

Harold laughs again, “My circulation is not what it used to be. My toes and feet are numb from a lack of blood. They always feel cold and they need protecting because I can’t feel when I hurt myself. Any injury could result in losing a toe, a foot, or in worst case scenarios my entire leg.

John understands, but Harold continues, “As to underwear, I do not like having sensitive bits rubbing against harsh fabric.”

John chuckles in the bed. They get under the covers and the lights go out. John closes his eyes. He can feel Harold hovering just out of range. John opens his eyes. “What?”

Harold grimaces, “I want to touch your arm to reassure myself you are fine. I know that is selfish especially as any touch could exacerbate your injuries. Also, it is presumptuous of me.”

John rolls carefully toward Finch. He grabs Harold’s hand and lays it upon John’s chest. “Let me state right now that you have my explicit permission to touch me at anytime. Whether to save my life again, heal me when I get injured, or just to make sure I’m still breathing. I welcome anything you wish to give me. It has been so long since I have been touched with kindness. You wouldn't be selfish instead you would be healing my soul as well as my body.”

Harold carefully explores John’s chest, feeling for the echo from his heart. When Finch is satisfied he pulls away. John pulls him back and rests Harold’s head on John’s shoulder. “You aren't the only one who needs to know their friend is safe. Just, lay like this for a bit. Let me soak up some human kindness. You always seem to have extra.”

Harold huffs warm air across John’s sternum, but he doesn't move.

The night is falling outside and the sounds of air conditioning and electricity are all they hear. Out of the blue John says, “I want you to know that I don’t completely think of myself as Reese anymore. You've helped me become a better man. One day, with your help I hope to give myself a new name. I don’t want to be the man Kara named anymore, I want to be a man you could be proud of.”

Harold doesn't even lift his head to say, “John, that is the greatest compliment I have ever received. When that day comes, when you truly feel you have shaken off the shackles of the Agency then I would be honored to help you pick a new name.”

John nods and relaxes into the loose embrace they share. He goes to sleep slowly with silly thoughts running through his head. Thoughts like, maybe that new name could one day be Finch. John Finch. The idea of it leaves a smile on his face even in his sleep.

  
~*~

 


	7. When Darkness Falls Early

** **

 

~ * ~

 

John wakes up groaning from the pain. He is stiff and can barely move. Harold attempts to help him up and John glares at him. Harold growls, actually growls, “You need help and being stubborn only makes it worse.”

John tries to smile, “I guess you don’t like it when the shoes on the other foot, huh Finch?”

Harold's eyes grow wide. John smirks, “You do that to me. As if you have to suffer alone, as if the explosion that killed Ingram and injured you was your fault and the pain is your penance.”

Harold backs away startled. “How?”

John shakes his head but regrets it instantly. “Harold Wren is connected to Ingram. Ingram died in an explosion that would have resulted in your injuries. I suspected it, but never said anything because you deserve your privacy. The scars on your neck would match up with shrapnel damage. I know what wounds from a bomb look like Harold. My point though is when you push me away or stop me from helping you’re saying that your pain is a punishment that you deserve. How would Ingram feel about that?”

“That is none of your business!”

John is angry now. “Of course it is. You are my partner and friend. Your health is important to me not only in our Mission but personally. Your pain could get me killed or cause me sorrow. I want to help. Why is it okay for you to help me, but I can’t help you?”

Harold hedged, “You don’t know everything.”

“That the explosion probably was a government hit on Ingram? That they figured out he was meeting with a reporter? I was a international spy Finch.”

Harold whirled around with fire in his eyes, “They killed him! Because I wouldn’t let him work the Numbers.”

John props himself up further, he wants to keep the information flowing. Harold has kept this stuff to himself long enough. “So, you wouldn’t let a middle aged playboy pretend to be James Bond in real life and that means you deserve to be miserable for the rest of your life? Ingram could have gotten you killed, or his family kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. Hell, his impulsive chivalry got hundreds of commuters and a reporter killed. Not to mention his stupidity crippled you forever.”

Harold steps forward, grabbing John’s shoulders and shaking him.“Stop it! Nathan was honorable, he was trying to do the right thing.”

John clutches Harold right back.“So were you! If he had listened to you he would be drinking martinis on the Riviera right now and you’d be bouncing little redhead babies on your knee as Grace painted your portrait.”

Harold swallows back what he was going to say. His face is grey. He releases John. “This isn't the time..”

John makes to stand. “We might not have the time later.” Harold helps John over to the sink. “I had hoped to slowly show you how great you are, how wonderful and kind you are. But we might not have that time. I need to show you that you have nothing to be punished for.”

Harold brings over a change of clothes and a dry towel.“Pot calling the kettle black don’t you think?”

John is leaning heavily on the sink. He smirks at Harold “Oh you want to play that game? You think you want to be like me? Well, let me tell you; only on the bad days do I still think I got Jessica killed. Most days I know it was Arndt. He did it. She made a choice and it ended badly. I made a choice and it ended badly. I ran away before she could break up with me. She wasn’t ever gonna be okay with John-The-Soldier.”

John takes the bundle from Harold then continues in a subdued voice. “I was going to pretend to be someone else just to keep her, but I saw that even then she wasn’t able to commit to me. She would eventually need more. She hadn't even told her mom about us. She didn't want a husband she just wanted to play house with me. So, I ran.”

Harold made to disagree and John just spoke over him. “The army was easy. I do what they say and they accept me. Jessica was always going to leave me so I made the choice to leave her first. That way I could keep her in my mind as this perfect thing to take out and hold. As if she were a priceless painting in a vault only looked at to inspire, but never touched. I was an idiot.”

John lays the toiletries on the sink and really looks at Harold.  “On bad days I forget that, but because of you those bad days are few and far between. Because of you I see clearly that there was nothing I could have done to stop her death. She made a choice and I made a choice. If she had married me she would have left me anyway. Her life was not mine to play with like a puppeteer on a stage. She was a person not an accessory.”

John stops talking to see if what he is saying is getting through to Finch. Harold takes a deep breath. “Aren’t we in a clear thinking mood this morning?”

John understands the urge to deflect, to change the subject and he allows it this time. “Yeah well, pain and imminent death have a way of clarifying things and reminding you when you’re an ass.”

~ * ~

Root promised them three days of relief from her sickening and cloying presence. Three days of helping John in the shower to ease the aches and bruises. Three days to teach Harold some easy self defence moves. Three days for both men to start a yoga routine to keep limber and fit. Harold’s range of motion had dwindled over the last year while John knew that keeping the blood pumping would lessen the injuries and heal him quicker.

Harold is adorable in his sweat pants and tee shirt, bottom up in the air while trying to touch his toes. John tries to keep his gaze on his own wall but every now and then Reese’s gaze lingers on the soft curves of his Boss. Their routine is nice, comfortable, domestic. John wishes they could have developed this closeness without the Sword of Damocles in the form of Root.  Either time or danger will draw people together. John wanted the trust to be earned. However, he will take what he can get. This easy to and fro with Harold is heavenly. They eat together, they read together, they talk about favorite movies, the weather or surprisingly: baseball. Harold actually laughs at John’s attempt to ferret out a home team bias from Finch. It doesn’t work but the banter makes them both smile.  

Seventy-two hours is not enough. It is a blink of an eye or a single drop in the ocean. Too soon they have Root’s fake charm and vicious taunting coming through the speakers of their room.

They take John again. This time it is more of the same. Tweedle Dum and Dee pummel him trying to get a sound out of him. Harold’s frantic pleas are the only thing that really hurts. Harold is begging. He should never have to demean himself, not for John. John is hit with a powerful punch to a bruise on his side. That gets a grunt out of him. Harold’s voice rises higher. Root is a sadistic bitch for doing this to a man she wants to befriend. The cruel irony here is that Root is making it impossible for Harold to ever see her as anything other than a monster. She could save John’s life ten times over after this, but Harold will always see her as the barbaric savage who enjoyed hurting people.

When they finish, Root feeds them breakfast again. John and Harold run through the same routine. Shower, medical care, resting with Harold’s voice lulling John into a doze. When he wakes for lunch John is sore, but the edge has been taken off by the naproxen. Harold looks miserable. He feeds John again, absentmindedly on the bed.

After the trash and tray are taken away, Harold sits next to John on the bed. He holds John’s wrist and taps out. “You have to escape before she gets back. We have a week this time.”

John taps back. “Not without you.”

Harold looks angry and taps, “You have to, she will kill you, but she won’t hurt me.”

John just shakes his head,.

Harold leaves the bed in a huff and says out loud, “You are stubborn and unreasonable. You can’t keep trying to protect me. She won’t hurt me. I can join her crusade. At least you will be safe.”

John just turns his head. He isn't going to listen to anymore. If he can’t get out with Harold then he will never leave.

Harold becomes quiet, but it is a silence filled with displeasure. John heals slowly, the worst of it is the soreness. The bruises that were starting to turn yellow at the edges are purple again. Harold gets this sad and sorrowful look when he sees them. John has gotten into the habit of undressing in the shower stall. Harold gets the sheet over it, but John doesn't care if they get an eyeful. However, when John uses the toilet or the shower, Harold politely turns his head. Only then does John strip and change or shower. Best not to remind Harold of John’s injuries too much lest Harold start to get ideas.

  
~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I am in a slump. Might be a while before I finish this piece. However, I have every intention of completing this story.


	8. He Had A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Major Character Death, Original Character(s) Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide. This gets bloody fast folks.

~ * ~

The domestic element between them is heavenly for John. Of course they are monitored prisoners and occasionally he gets beaten. However, every meal he shares with Harold, every little cleaning chore they divide between them just warms his heart. They make the bed every morning where they slept together the night before.

John never got this with Jessica. They never had this. Jessica couldn’t commit to a soldier. John could never stop being the soldier.

Harold never had this with Grace. Grace got the house after Harold died. She and Harold had never lived together. Harold couldn’t risk his various personas converging in front of Grace. Nathan was married and any relations between them had to be in secret. So, for each of the men, this is the only time they were able to live as a couple, as life partners. John reveled in it.

Harold is open and caring in this place. Little touches and reassurances here and there. Harold reads to John or tells some story about Nathan and MIT. John explains about how he got into the Army, what boot camp was like, how his unit bonded.

On the third night of Root’s absence, John wakes up with Harold sitting over him. John smiles. “Like what you see?”

Harold gasps slightly, then composes himself to say, “I just needed to watch you breathing. I had a terrible dream that I lost you.”

John opens his arms and pulls Harold to him. He lays Harold's head on his chest. “I’m here. I won’t ever leave you if I can help it.”

Harold snuggles in, embraces John with some deep emotions brimming under the surface for both of them.

Harold murmurs. “To answer your question: yes, I like what I see- every time.”

John’s arms squeeze Harold a little tighter. “Good to know. And same here by the way.”

They sleep better that night, but in the morning the guards serve them breakfast with smirks and taunts.

Harold rolls his eyes. “Seriously. They kidnap and torture people, but have a problem with homosexual activities. It’s so cliche that I want to vomit.”

John laughs. “Is that what we were doing? Homosexual activities?”

Harold looks straight into John's eyes with the most serious, sincere expression John has ever seen and says, “On my part it would be homosexual activities. I’m not sure about your preferences.”

John tries to swallow with a dry throat. “I’ve never really labeled it. I guess Bisexual covers it. Not sure of the difference.”

Harold nods and begins to turn away. John stops him with a hand to his elbow. “Thank you. For trusting me with that.”

Harold smiles. “Likewise.”

~ * ~

That night as the two men snuggle together under the covers Harold hesitatingly says, “I hope that my admission this morning didn't make you uncomfortable. I respect your boundaries and your independence. I expect nothing from you but your friendship and your dedication to the Numbers.”

John is taken aback. He stretches his neck so that he can look down into Harold’s face and replies, “I told you I was bisexual. Do you honestly think that I have such a small opinion of you that I would be afraid for my virtue?”

Harold shifts in his place but before he can answer John continues in a hushed tone. “Harold I've known you for over a year. I've been a prisoner in this cell with you for weeks.”

John pauses and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes as he says, “I have been sexually attracted to you since I found you in that police locker endangering your own life just to make sure I knew that it was a setup. I have been in love with you since you handed me a menu and told me you liked that cafe’s Eggs Benedict.”

Harold’s shoulders stiffen and John opens his eyes to see his companion as he relentlessly continues his confession. “I didn't know I was in love with you until the explosion. You walked towards a bomb to warn Matt Duggan and for a few seconds I was terrified; not for my life, not for my job, but for the man that I loved. It scared the shit out of me to think that I could fall in love again and not realize it. I guess I’d been so numb for so long that when the tenderness and affection that I felt for you morphed into love, I ignored it until the moment I thought you were dead. Which slammed into me the fact that I was deeply and irrevocably in love with you. So Harold, understand that I have never feared anything from you except abandonment.”

John needs to clear his throat, but he manages to go on. “If you return my love that would be the greatest gift I have ever received, but if you don't -if you simply want a physical relationship- I will count myself the luckiest man alive. Finally, if you want neither I will always be here as your friend, your companion, and your partner in this mission.”

Harold blinks his large, blue eyes that are bare and startling without his glasses. He moistens his lips, an action John follows hungrily with his eyes. Harold makes no sound, but moves slowly towards Reese. Their lips meet for the first time in a tender, gentle exploration of new territory.

John circles his long arms around the compact yet precious body. John’s mind is a blank. All he can do is experience a great swelling of joy and happiness.

The feel of thin lips opening to him, the smell of warm, safe Harold, the sounds of wet mouths colliding, the taste of toothpaste and home within Harold's mouth, the sight of Harold’s face devoid of any mask, truly throwing all of himself into the kiss is just too much to process for John. John is hanging on to this moment for dear life.

If nothing else ever happened between them then this second of indulgence is enough. It would sustain John through famine, disease, pain, torture, and even death. It seems to have lifted the veil between John and his emotions. The world is brighter, more alive than it has been in over a decade since he left Jessica. This is living in the world. This is being reconnected to it. It was humbling and exhilarating all at once.

Reluctantly John moves away from temptation. When Harold moans a protest, John reminds him of the cameras by pointing at the one over the bed. Harold spies the blinking light scowling at it menacingly. John laughs softly.

Harold looks over with a smile of his own, saying, “I love you too. I want you to know that I have for a long time. It scared me as well. That’s why I led you to Grace. I thought that if I showed you how dangerous it was to be near me and how careless I am with loved ones you would back off. Seeing the real me would get you to stop flirting, at least I thought it might.”

John pecks Harold’s adorable pout quickly and says, “Nothing will ever get me to stop flirting with you.”

Harold sighs and lays down. With his head pillowed on John’s chest he whispers, “I just wish we had figured this out before now. A prison cell is no place for romance to blossom.”

John agrees but instead of saying more he lets them both drift into a peaceful slumber. John is determined to give them a chance outside these four walls. They’ll have to restrict their affectionate touches while under the microscope of Root and her goons. Yet, John is determined to have a full relationship with Harold very soon. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold Harold in the sunlight one day.

~ * ~

Root is back. A dread descends on them. Harold is jittery, nervous, restless. John knows it's the anticipation from the thought of which torture Root might attempt this time. Harold is jumping at the boogie man in the form of Root.

When John is taken he offers no resistance. He can’t risk upsetting Harold into doing something monumentally brave but horrifically stupid.

Root doesn't stay in the room with either Harold or John. Instead she taunts them through the P.A. system. John supposes she is going for an _All-Seeing-All-Powerful-Godlike_ atmosphere to remind them how useless it is to resist her demands. She holds their lives in her hands.

It just makes what is about to happen worse. John can withstand pain and torture but listening to Root drone on in her sycophantic rhetoric is just the literal definition of unendurable.

John’s head is fastened into the chair along with his right hand. One of the guards, John had forgotten which one it is, stands at the door with a gun on John.

The guard fastening the restraints leans over John's left side, dangerously close. If John didn’t have to concern himself with getting Harold out safely then John could over power this idiot who has indeed gotten lax with protocols.

Just before John’s left hand is belted in a horrified shriek comes over the speakers. Root is frantically yelling about Harold, dying, and stopping Harold. The door guard turns toward the prisoner’s rooms. It’s enough of a distraction to signal John into action.

Reese grabs the knife from the nearest guard’s belt -the sheer stupidity of wearing a knife that close to a prisoner does not bear thinking about- and slices through the moron’s carotid artery in a move too fast to defend. John is covered in the arterial spray but he continues on undaunted, ignoring the thrashing death throws of the soon-to-be dead guard.

Root is screaming about Harold being dead or dying. John can't care about anything else but getting to Harold. The guard at the door is too slow, he turns just in time to see a freed Reese stab the knife into his throat. The idiot gurgles stupidly. John lets his body fall to the floor, pulls out the knife with difficulty, grabs the man’s gun, and steps over him to see the door to their cell open.

Inside he finds two guards kneeling over Harold's limp body. A tee shirt is bunched around Harold's neck as a makeshift noose. On the wall the safety handle for the shower stall has fresh dents and scratches. It takes only a fraction of a second to realize Harold hung himself in the shower.

Root was torturing John to get to Harold. Harold -ever the genius- decided to take himself out of the equation. He was refusing to be used anymore.

John can’t really reason beyond the fact that Harold isn’t breathing and Root is sobbing over the speakers. John shoots the first guard in the head. The second turns in time to see the threat but not react. He is dead in a blink of an eye. His skull open from a bullet.

Harold lies dead on the floor. John sees red. He hurries out of the room looking for the monster who did this. Root has to be in the building and John will enact his revenge. Before he can find the Bitch her last two lackeys are standing in their bed clothes with murder in their eyes. They were obviously awakened by the noise and commotion. They want revenge for their fallen comrades.

John wouldn’t care about dying at their hands except he needs to get to Root first. With Harold gone John doesn’t want to exist in this god forsaken nightmare of a world anymore. John readies himself for a fight. He only needs to survive long enough to rid this hellscape of Samantha Groves.

~ * ~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lord this fic is a monster. Sorry it took me a year to complete this chapter. I had to go to a dark place.  
> ***Heed Warnings***


	9. Harry Got Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEATH, Mayhem, Violence.  
> ***Heed Warnings***

~ * ~

The sleepy guards have to wait for a kill order from Root. John has no such restriction. John quickly turns to the side to minimize his profile. He fires at the first guy with precision. The guard’s chest must be on fire: no vest on obviously. Good to know.

The second guard has enough time to fire a round but he too succumbs to a chest wound that will prove fatal in minutes. John himself is hit in the fleshy center of his bicep that was facing his opponent. It might not be a through and through but it doesn’t feel like it hit bone. What kind of ammo were they using that had such a shitty velocity? John doesn’t have time to check.He simply disarms the guards and looks at his own weapons.

He makes certain there are at least four more bullets in the stolen pistol. He grabs the knife and uses it as a second weapon. He is looking for Groves now. His steady right hand holds the gun level- elbow high. The left fist clasps the knife letting it hover under his pistol- blade pointed outward from the circle of his pinkie finger, ready to sink silently into the body of his most hated enemy. John will not be leaving this warehouse alive, but neither will Root.

He finds her sitting at a desk near a microphone. She is sobbing uncontrollably. John assumes she is armed anyways. John leans against the door jamb looks past the wall to view Samantha Groves. She has her head turned sideways down on the desk with her hair flying over into her face, her back presented to the entrance. John wants to talk to her but he isn’t going to take the chance that she’ll get the upper hand. He aims carefully for her spinal column. Her bony back makes it easy to fire a bullet between her C8 and T1 discs.

Even if he missed the spinal cord, the damage should be done. She’ll die without medical attention as whatever organs he hit bleed out. Root crumples from the chair. John hopes it hurts like the screams of the damned.

He enters the room; its walls are covered with monitors. John doesn’t look at the one with Harold’s lifeless body displayed center screen. He has a specific purpose for the next few minutes.

John drags Root around and checks her for weapons. She has a stun gun in her boot. A knife is in its sheath at her belt, but the gun holster is empty with her pistol left lying on the desk. John grabs them all.

John checks the injury. Root is bleeding sluggishly from the entrance wound. With the low velocity ammo and her being so skinny her belly is a grisly exit wound- that bleeds like a stuck pig. John thinks he managed to cut the cord leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. If not, she could crawl to help and that can’t be allowed.

John finds a scarf on a coat tree in the corner. He ties Root’s hands behind her as she cries out in pain and anguish. It’s a good look for her.

Satisfied that Root is no longer a threat, John slaps her across the face. “Quiet!” He barks. “Can you hear me?”

Root’s chest moves slowly; she hiccups softly. Then a scowl of pure malice twists her features, “Of course I can hear you, you Neanderthal. You hit my back not my ears.”

Her voice is raspy, labored. Talking is a strain.

John nods at her. “You forced Harold to kill himself.”

Between pants Root says, “I did no such thing. You corrupted him. He was worth a million of your kind.”

John agrees about Harold being so much better than he, but that wasn’t the point. He kneels by her cooling body, the blood making his knees wet and sticky. “You did it. Harold cares about people, all people. If I had been a stranger you were torturing he would have acted the same.”

Root just glares at him, her eyes getting heavy.

John whispers into her right ear. “That’s right. Harold was so special he was beyond even your abilities. But he loved me. He _loved_ me. You have video proof of it.”

John moves back to see the horror, hatred, and defeat in her eyes. John carefully stands up to think. He could let her linger like this until she either bleeds out or sepsis sets in except someone might get to her before that happened.

With John eating a bullet in the next few minutes, he wouldn’t be there to make sure she suffered. Resigned, John raises the gun and shoots her right between the eyes. It not nearly as satisfying as he wishes it to be.

Two bullets are left in this gun with other guns available in the warehouse if he fails somehow causing a misfire- twice. John is at peace with this. John takes a cleansing breath. He goes to what used to be their cell. He expects to cradle Harold in his arms and blow his own brains out. Unfortunately, Will Ingram will probably never know what happened to his uncle.

With Harold gone there will be no one who really knew John enough to grieve. Carter might have become a friend someday but right now she’s too distrustful of Reese. John hopes Carter won’t blame herself for their disappearance.

John rounds the corner from the hall. He heads straight to their door, dodging blood and bodies as best he can. Once inside the room John drags away the cooling bodies of the guards whose carelessness allowed this to happen. They don’t deserve to be that close to Harold.

John’s reserves are almost spent. He kneels down at Harold’s side. The grief is not numbing like it was with Jessica. After he found out Jess was dead, it was like his insides had been replaced by a robot’s or ice.

This time it burns and John’s entire body vibrates. His eyes blur with tears. He angrily swipes them away; they block his view of Harold. Of Harold’s sweet pot-belly.

Which moves?

John gasps. He lays his head down onto Harold’s chest. A chest that is warm and reverberates with a heart-beat; that rises and lowers slowly under his ear. John howls like an animal.

Harold’s alive!

John shakes him. Harold’s beautiful and large eyes blink at him. Harold’s throat will have a few bruises but the tee shirt would have kept his hyoid bone intact. If he hasn’t lost airflow for too long, there shouldn't be any brain damage.

John’s smiles down at Harold. It feels more like a grimace but John doesn't care. “Can you tell me your name?” he questions Harold just to make sure.

Harold’s voice is like broken glass, but he gets out, “Harold Finch. You are Mr. John Reese and please tell me this is heaven.”

John laughs wetly, then just breaks down. John wants to hold Harold through the shock, but his hands are a bloody mess. He studiously wipes them on his pants as best he can after placing the gun in his waistband at the back. He cradles Harold’s face then holds his lover in his arms. “We’re safe. Root is dead. You’re still alive.”

Harold shakes his head. “I can’t seem to believe it’s over.”

John agrees and hugs him tighter. “If you ever do something like this again I will pull you from heaven and make your life hell.”

Harold nods and looks for his glasses. John finds them, replacing them on Harold’s perfect hawk-like nose.

Harold asks, “Can we get out of here? I need, I need to be somewhere else.”

John nods, then carefully guides Harold around the bodies in such a way that Harold doesn’t see anything, except John’s chest. They head for the exit. The keypad is a problem until Harold just rewires it on their side. A few sparks emit from the box and then the door swings open. The van is parked in the back. John makes sure Harold is comfortable in the passenger seat, then he hot wires the van.

They are on their way in less than three minutes. Root might still be bleeding out if by some infinitesimal chance the head-shot did not kill her: John doesn’t have a single thought towards her. His whole mind is focused on getting them to a safe houseand call Carter since she was probably frantic. But first he needs to get his hands on some cash, find a local hotel, and get them a room.

John is covered in blood and has a bullet lodged in his arm. They need to get off the streets. John finds a corner drug dealer and his bodyguard. He parks a few yards away. He tells Harold he’ll be right back. John subdues the neighborhood thugs easily. Robbing them and leaving with a warning about selling to kids takes another four minutes. They have a substantial wad of cash now.

Harold’s clothes are only bloody where John has touched him. In the low light of the streets you could barely make out what the substance is, the blood on his face they wipe away with spit and their shirts.

John gets them to a _Days Inn_ that has seen better days. Harold has to be the one to go into the office and ask for the room. His hands are shaking, but he manages to get them registered and paid up for a week. They won’t be disturbed at all thanks to a twenty dollar tip.

John lets Harold out then ditches the van in the woods next to the overpass. Hopefully some homeless entrepreneurs will strip it before they are even asleep. Harold is in the shower when John gets back.

A knock on the door has Reese freezing with his gun out. He looks out the window: it’s housekeeping with robes and toiletries.

Of course Harold would have thought of everything. John barely opens the door. The woman is a little scared of him obviously.

John shrugs. “Got mugged. My boyfriend managed to get us away. You know how people can be.”

She nods in understanding. Two men, one bed, a gay bashing was likely especially in the rundown part of town. John tries to smile as she leaves.

The water stops in the bath. Harold pokes his head out. “Everything alright?”

John nods. Harold sighs then limps naked to the bed. He isn’t self conscious at all. He puts on the robe with a blissed-out expression. John can relate.

Reese makes his way to the shower. The water runs brown then rusty, finally a bright pink red. When the water runs clear, he soaps all over once again. Then rinses thoroughly and shampoos his hair. The grime lifts off like a veil. The malnutrition, the exhaustion, the fear is making itself known.

John is quivering in the spray of water as it turns cold. So much could have gone wrong. So much can still go wrong. They will order food and clothes, stitch up his arm, and sleep here tonight; tomorrow they will leave and steal another car. They’ll leave a note on the door to not be disturbed. It will be a week before anyone knows they’re gone.

John just has to get Harold far enough away, in case someone investigates the abandoned warehouse, notices the flies starting to hover or worse gets a nose full of the decomp that will set in quickly with the hot air unmoving as the bodies decay.

John is so out of it he doesn't notice the door opening, Harold turning off the water, but Harold is there holding John.

Harold croons, “It’s alright. We’re safe. You did it. You got us out. I am so proud of you, John. I love you.”

John’s eyes squeeze shut. The truth and conviction behind those words shock him to tears. He expected Harold to be horrified by his actions dealing with Root and freeing them from imprisonment and torture at her hands, not understanding, forgiving, and … loving.

John takes in a shaking breath. God is he crying? Why now?

Harold doesn’t even stop to ask, he just gets John dry, bandages his arm from a hotel first-aid kit Harold ordered, and into his own robe. They settle on the bed where Harold pets him. This is familiar now. John is hurt and Harold heals him,

John shamelessly clings to Harold. This is all he needs in life. The Numbers give him purpose, but Harold is his life. John lives for Harold Finch and Harold has accepted that great burden.

Harold rocks them for a few minutes then whispers, “I don’t want you to be startled but I ordered pizza. It should be here in fifteen minutes or so.”

John laughs, wipes his eyes, and finds a tissue on the side table to blow his nose. He is a mess. Harold looks at him like he’s the best thing in the world.

John pecks Harold’s thin lips. “I love you. I need you. Please don’t ever sacrifice yourself for me. It’s not worth it. Without you, I’d kill myself anyway.”

Harold makes to say something, but the knock comes. Harold stands up with pursed lips of disapproval. John stands behind the door with his gun from the bathroom in hand once again. Harold opens the door, gives a huge tip, and thanks the young delivery driver. There are two large pizzas; one cheese, one pepperoni. A two liter of Diet Pepsi and garlic knots. They fall onto the food like wolves.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Smokes! One more chapter for the aftermath and we are done.


	10. Epilogue: You Find Somebody To Love In This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue for our boys.

~ * ~

John isn’t sleeping well this night, a knife wound to the back makes lying down difficult. Instead John watches Harold sleep. Creepy yes, but necessary. Harold is finally sleeping through the night more often than not. A welcomed change since they returned to New York.

Back then The Machine- or T.M. as they’d starting calling it for convenience and discretion- refused to give them any more Numbers to work until they both passed a psych evaluation of its choosing.

Harold had been furious. Any attempts to change the programming were shut down by The Machine itself. Nothing they did could convince T.M. to just let them go back to work.

Resigned, they both started to simply pretend to share theraputic information with the AI. After a few days of The Machine accessing every known psychiatric journal, theory, and session to provide advice to the men, the therapy was working to help them cope with their PTSD. Harold’s jumpiness and John’s gun obsession lessened. They both noticed improvements in each other. So they continued the sessions with a more opened mind.

The Machine already knew everything dangerous in their pasts. It wasn’t human so this new knowledge couldn’t result in anyone else getting hurt. It was working for them.

After a few weeks, T.M. -which John laughingly thought of as ‘TiM’ much to Harold’s chagrin- started handing them Numbers. However, they no longer simply received nine digits. Instead they obtained exact information about who and what they were to prevent. The black box feature was still in place as the men were not given access to what TiM saw. Instead, TiM would email Harold a short, highly encrypted message about who was the victim and who was the perpetrator as well as what would be the best way to handle the case.

Harold had been upset about this enough to actually open a dialogue with TiM apart from the therapy sessions. Those conversations were almost more helpful to Harold’s peace of mind than the psychoanalysis.

Harold could once again speak to his creation. He could question it and get answers. To John it was as if Harold got to reconnect to a child thought long gone. The Machine was functioning just as Harold had worked so hard to achieve and as he had fervently hoped it would. Any fears Harold had about an artificial intelligence unleashed onto the world were calmed. In addition, John sensed that T.M. had been just as affected by the kidnapping as the humans. The Machine was freaked and wanted time to acclimate to the world.

Their growth and healing did not in fact make everything they went through with Root a thing that just happened in their past. Harold still woke in the middle of the night from night terrors.

John by his side helped. Their bed was a soothing and loving place in John’s loft. Harold only had these interruptions of sleep about once every two weeks. It was a improvement from that first week when Harold barely made it through four hours a night.

Touch helped. John would hold Harold, let the older man hear John’s heartbeat, reassure him that they were both alive and safe. Their first intimate and sexual acts together stemmed from one such night. Hand jobs were good at getting a man back to sleep.

The first time Harold sucked John off would have been a regular afternoon otherwise. John just got back from a case, his shirt soaked in the perpetrator's blood. Harold had been shaking with fright. Instead of breaking down, Finch roughly stripped Reese and kneeled at John’s feet. That sweet mouth loved on Reese and gave Harold a sense of control. Harold knew John was alive and well with the man’s hard cock spilling down his throat.

They also talked openly with each other. Harold had been reluctant to speak, feeling weak in comparison to John. John had been adamant that his training had not given him a free pass on trauma. John explained everything he had been feeling since Harold's abduction. John left no emotion, no action or fear out. John told Harold everything.

Harold in turn shared his paranoia and panic attacks. Together with their new dog Bear, they helped each other return to the life they both cherished. They became closer than ever.

So close that John is currently feeling no guilt about watching Harold sleep. It’s a gift to be able to see Finch’s eyes flutter, his chest rise and fall. John reaches out to smooth down the spiky hair he adores.

John raises his head and speaks to the room softly, “When’s our next Number?”

The laptop on the desk beeps and says in a mechanical voice, “Three days rest until the next case.”

John smiles. “Thank you. Privacy settings until then please.”

The laptop powers down. After a moment John knows they will not be interrupted by human or computer for three days unless it is urgent. One of the advantages to a more independent TiM is that they can now take weekends off to be together. John is planning to use this downtime to its utmost.

The clock on the bedside table reads seven. That’s their usual time to wake. John knows a pleasant way to make Harold rise. He rummages under the sheets until his head is level to Harold’s waist. Wasting no time, John pulls the boxers down to expose the quiescent manhood underneath.

Harold isn't hard yet but his package is still impressive. John considered genitalia to be weird at the best of times but Harold’s are beautiful to him. The smell is heady: clean skin, musky maleness, and a little tang of pre seminal fluid that lingers on every sexually active male. John loves it.

He inhales deeply, nuzzles his nose along the carefully trimmed public hair. Harold is as particular in his grooming here as he is everywhere else. It makes it easier for John to lick the heavy sack and pop the cock head into his mouth. He suckles at the phallus letting it grow inside him.

John is in heaven. Harold’s smell, taste, sight, and feel are all around him. The only thing missing is sound. Time to make Harold moan.

John carefully shoulders his way under Harold’s knees. John’s mouth remains full but his hands are now free while his trapezius muscles support Harold’s legs.

Saliva drips from his lips and dribbles down the crack of Harold’s magnificent ass. John’s thumbs spread the improvised lube around Harold’s carefully groomed anus. This particular aperture has brought both of them hours of great pleasure. John won’t be penetrating Harold with nothing but spit: that would be dangerous as well as foolish.

Instead, John massages the sensitive skin around the rim of Harold’s hole with his left thumb. The nerves here are numerous and when the body is aroused they become erogenous zones _in theory_. For Harold the theory has been proven to be fact: to their mutual delight.

John rubs the seamed patch of skin that lies between Harold's sack and his hole. Careful pressure soon results in a deep rumbling groan from Harold. The vibrations of which are felt all the way down Harold's body to the knuckles of John’s right hand which are messaging Harold's prostate from the outside.

“Not fair,” Harold mumbles.

John would feel guilty except he knows how much Harold loves his mouth. Hard suction produces the gratifying effects of Harold growing blood hot and stiff on John’s tongue. Harold’s hole twitches around John's left thumb. Harold's legs begin to involuntarily shift as they wake to the sensations.

In the beginning of their sexual explorations, Harold was extraordinarily timid in bed. Just as Harold has impeccable manners in the world, he felt that sexual activities required manners as well.

John on the other hand prefers to be manhandled and enjoys the rougher side of sexual relations. Several months of negotiations, of frank discussions, and practical demonstrations have resulted in Harold grabbing John's head- decisively controlling the rhythm in this encounter to John’s delight. Essentially, Harold is fucking John's mouth. John's drool triples as the excitement of this storms through him.

Harold is taking charge. Harold is taking what he wants. What Harold wants is more of John's mouth. He wants John’s hair fisted into his hands. He wants the back of John's throat to be raw from the pummeling of his cock head. He wants John’s eyes to water at the unexpected violation of his esophagus. John wants this too. He has wanted this with Harold forever.

The experience is such a turn-on for Reese that he can barely hold it together. His own cock is swollen to painful limits. His anus twitching around emptiness, squeezing nothing. His toes curling. The luxury of having Harold simply use him is so erotic and so overwhelming that it's as if John reaches a plateau of peace. This is his purpose in life; to service Harold.

Too soon the thrusting and pumping are over and John's mouth is flooded with bittersweet liquid. As soon as John is aware that Harold is completely satisfied, John pulls his head back, drops Harold's legs to the side carefully, and looms over Harold's recovering body.

John spits into his left hand the essence of his lover. Using that lubrication, John grabs his own erection with a vice-like grip. Three brutal and painful strokes from tip to base and John is coming all over Harold's stomach. The edges of his vision gray out from the orgasm’s intensity.

John flops to the side gasping for air, completely wrecked. Beside him Harold is catching his breath. John sits up to forestall any apology Harold might make, saying, “That was the single greatest, most erotic, and sexy moment of my life. Please promise me you will do that every time you're in my mouth.”

Harold stares at John for a few heartbeats. Slowly, a blush spreads over his face. It is beautiful to John so he leans over and kisses his lover. John pulls off his own boxer-briefs to use them to wipe his hands then Harold's penis and stomach. John tosses the soiled fabric in the direction of their hamper. He cuddles down onto the bed, holding Harold with satisfaction and contentment. Right now their world is perfect. Soon they will have to return to the imperfections outside and try to save another lost soul.

However, right now everything is calm. Troubled waters are receding. The mountains have crumbled into the sea. The oceans are halcyon once more. John feels liquid as he's surrounds Harold. They both slumber in perfect harmony as the cameras outside keep watch over the guardians of the city.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your patience with this difficult fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Read by Blue_Finch
> 
>  
> 
> Title is a reference to a line in "New York Minute" a song written by Don Henley, Danny Kortchmar, and Jai Winding. As well as a title for season 02, episode 16 of West Wing.


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